Yesterday I wrote a blog post before I went to class, and for some fucking reason the PCC internet connection seemed to cut out on me at some point in the middle of my post. I was unaware of this till this morning. I thought about trying to fill in the blanks from memory, but that would be kinda pointless, since I would have to pretend that I was sitting back in the computer lab at PCC, filled with the same gripes as yesterday. It's a shame, because it was cut-off where my rant was building up its steam. So, here is what remains of that post:
[ I'm currently sitting here at the Sylvania Campus and have some time before class, so I thought a quickie might do me good. I'm not sure if a whole hell of a lot has happened to me in the time since the last post, but campus life is pretty entertaining. It would provide me with so many precious quotables if I had the mind to write 'em down quick enough. There were a few moments in my Russian History class that were eye-rollers, and I have them written down somewhere in a notebook. Alas, I don't have this notebook with me right now. Stay tuned for that shit.
Though I will be doing a character study of some of my classmates in my Russian History class, it's enjoyable for the most part. The class I'm having the hardest time sitting through is tomorrow's Drama class. If the play Fences is worth a three hour deconstruction, I can only imagine how much class time we'll spend on Oedipus the King, which we just read this weekend. The play that spawned a complex that created the psychoanalytical term "Oedipal." I'm sure the discussion will be just as boundary-less as the previous one. I'm sure some will think I'm naive when hearing my complaints: what did you expect of a Drama as Literature class? Nevertheless, it's worth mentioning how silly this whole process of unlimited, infinite deconstruction is. It's one thing to explore the historical context of the story, or the author's intentions, political affiliations, and cultural experiences that he brings to it. These are all apt explorations. However, if given enough time, the process will go on a downward spiral. The story will clearly be turned on its head just for the sake of, the poles will reverse, and the end product is a protagonist who is actually a supporting character, who is actually an antagonist and, I don't know, isn't a human being after all -- he's a demon, disguised as the moral backbone of the story. Hell, why not? One is allowed, and often encouraged, to be far-fetched when given the microphone. Then they can go to work on a string of non-sequiturs, and free association, uninterrupted, since this is a class where everyone's opinion is valid. This is welcoming thought, I'm sure, for deconstructionists and postmodernists, but it sort of takes the life out of a story for me. Can't we appreciate that some author's actually have a fucking point they're trying to convey? Or is the slave really the free man if we just shut our eyes and think hard enough?]
There you have it.
Maybe I'll continue this on another post, since today is the day of the Oedipus conversation in my literature class.